Chief Inspector Saba Colbshallow sat down for breakfast. He looked first to his left at his mother and then to his right at his daughter.
“And where’s the lady of the house?” he asked.
“Mummy says she doesn’t feel good,” said DeeDee. “She’s going to stay in bed today.”
Saba clucked his teeth in annoyance as Risty scooped scrambled eggs with diced peppers and onions onto his plate next to the sausages.
“I’m sure she has a good reason,” offered his mother.
“I’m sure.”
“She’s been having a rough time lately.”
“No doubt.”
“I don’t like onions in my eggs,” said DeeDee.
“Yes you do,” said her father. “Look at me. I’m eating them. Eat some and then Risty will get you a crumpet.”
“Maybe she’s out of sorts because she’s expecting,” said Mrs. Colbshallow.
“And here I thought Kafira was the only Immaculate Conception,” he muttered. He took another bite and ignored his mother’s scandalized look.
The only other bit of breakfast conversation was when DeeDee demanded strawberry jam with her crumpet. When they were done, Saba helped his daughter fasten on her shoes and then her bonnet.
“Come along girl. Your tutor is awaiting.”
“Maybe you should go up and kiss your wife goodbye,” said his mother.
“I’m sure she’s very busy with the second coming and all,” he said, and guided DeeDee out the front door.
They walked across the street to the Dechantagne Staff estate, where the lizzie doorman let them enter. Mrs. Dechantagne was alone in the parlor.
“Hello Saba,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Please don’t get up, Mrs. D.”
“Oh please don’t call me that.” She sat the book that she had been reading down and stepped over to him. “You’ve known me all your life, we lived in the same house for years, and don’t forget you were my husband’s best man at my wedding.”
“I was just a witness, and I haven’t forgotten a single moment.”
“You’re so sweet,” she smiled. “What can I do for you today.”
“DeeDee’s going to start on with Iolana.”
“You’re early. They usually don’t start until 11:00.”
“Yes, well I was wondering if I could leave her early. Her mother’s not feeling well.”
“Of course. I’ll take her upstairs and she can play with Terra. That girl could use some human companionship.”
“If you’re sure it’s not an inconvenience…”
“None at all. But you have to do me a favor first.”
“What?” he asked.
“You must address me properly.”
“As you wish… Yuah.” He blushed furiously.
“See, that didn’t hurt,” she said as she took DeeDee’s hand.
“Be a good girl,” Saba told his daughter.
“I will.”
Back outside, he crossed over to his own yard, but didn’t go into the house. He climbed into the steam carriage that the lizzies had already rolled from the machine shed and fired up. Putting it in gear, he pulled out onto the street and headed for downtown.
He arrived at the five-story police station five minutes later than his usual time. He had parked the car and quickly made his way up the walk when he almost collided with Eamon Shrubb, who was on his way out. He was dressed not in his police uniform, but in a grey suit not too different from the one that Saba wore, with the exception that Eamon had a turquoise utahraptor feather stuck in the hatband of his bowler.
“What’s this then?” asked Saba, waving at the other man’s clothes. “Finally got canned?”
“Quite the reverse, actually,” said Eamon.
“What’s the reverse of canned? You can’t have just got hired. You already work here.”
Eamon reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a wallet, flipping it open to reveal a police inspector’s badge.
“Well, somebody has clearly cocked up,” said Saba.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Not me. It’s Mayor Luebking. He’s got it in his mind that you’ve done some decent police work, and I can’t seem to disabuse him of the notion. The man’s going to run this town into the ground, I can tell you. Well, no help for that. Come upstairs with me and we’ll run through the open investigations.”
“Um, I’ll be back in a bit. I have to go show Dot my new badge.”
“Oh leave the poor girl alone. You’re going to knock her up again.”
“Too late,” said Eamon with a grin.
“Bloody Kafira. You’re like some kind of animal.” Saba shook his head. “All right. Go show her your badge, if that’s what you’re calling it these days. Be back in an hour. We really do have work to do.”
Taking the elevator up to his office, Saba pulled all the relevant files from the cabinet and began reading over them. There were quite a few unsolved cases, though that was not uncommon anywhere in the Brech Empire. The purpose of the police department was to keep order. Solving crimes was secondary. Besides, Birmisia Colony only had three police inspectors, himself included—four now that Eamon was on board. There were four unsolved murders, as well as the killing of a lizzie, which was considered a lesser crime. There were several dozen burglaries, a few robberies, an arson, and of course the bombing of the shipyard. Saba was so involved, that he hardly noticed when Eamon stepped into his office.
“That didn’t take long.”
“Dot’s sister was there—lucky for me. You know how she gets when she’s preggers.”
“Hmm.”
“So what have we got?”
“We’ve got a lot to do, is what,” said Saba. “I thought we might revisit some of these cases. Do a follow up. See if anything shakes out. We can start with the burglary at Dean’s, since it’s right around the corner.”
Saba grabbed the case files and the two inspectors left the office and made their way downstairs and out the door.
“We need to catch somebody, or we’ll have to change our motto,” said Eamon, glancing up at the words “punishment follows swift on guilt” carved above the stationhouse door.
They followed the sidewalk, which turned from cement to cobblestone as they rounded the corner. Occupying its own small building on the other side of a vacant lot from Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard was Dean’s Menswear. It was one of the more popular sellers of men’s clothing, owing mostly to the fact that Shannon Dean was one of the finer tailors in Port Dechantagne. Saba had patronized the store himself, though the prices were too high for him to do all of his shopping there, despite the quality.
The bell above the door rang as the two police inspectors stepped inside. The shop was dark, so filled with racks of clothing and wooden dressing dummies that the aisles between were very small. Saba had to turn sideways as he made his way toward the back, and Eamon couldn’t make it through without bumping into things. Mr. Dean stepped out of the back room.
“Hello Inspector,” he said. “Any leads on the robbery?”
“Um, burglary,” said Saba. “That’s what we’re here about. We wanted to double check the information, just in case something was missed.”
“Oh, well. I guess there isn’t much to tell. They took some money and some clothes.”
“They broke in the back way?” asked Eamon.
“You know they did,” said Dean. “You were the constable who showed up first.”
“We’re just going over the facts,” said Saba. “It says they took between fifteen and twenty marks and clothing valued at around M200.”
“Give or take a pfennig.”
“It strikes me as a crime of opportunity,” said Eamon. “If this had been properly planned, they would have taken more.”
“That sounds right,” agreed Saba.
“I’m going to take a look around out back and see if I get a brainstorm.”
“All right then, Inspector,” said Saba. “I’ve got some personal business with Mr. Dean, so come back and get me when you’re ready.”
“Looking for a new jacket?” asked Dean, when Eamon had left through the front door.
“I need a new suit. There are some events coming up where I’ll need to be in the company of the governor and other dignitaries. I need to have something nice—the latest style, or at least the latest style I can afford.”
“I understand. I think I have something you’d like in the back. Hold on just a minute.”
Mr. Dean ducked through the door to the back, just as the bell rang once again above the front door. Saba turned to see a man walking slowly through the shop, glancing left and right at the men’s fashions. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Saba, muscular, with neatly kempt red hair. He wore a very sharp charcoal suit and carried a baby tucked in one arm. The child had thin, wispy blonde hair and only her tiny and obviously very expensive pink dress gave away her gender.
Mr. Dean stepped back out from the back holding a suit on a hanger. It was black, with barely noticeable black scrollwork on the lapel. Pulling it open, he showed the same black scrollwork on the black waistcoat.
“I like that,” said Saba. “How much is it?”
“One hundred sixty marks, with two pairs of pants.”
“Kafira’s tit,” said Saba.
“Steady on,” said the shopper. When Saba turned to look at him, he nodded toward the child.
“Sorry,” said the chief inspector, and then turning back to Dean, “I think I’ll need to keep looking.”
“Let me see that,” said the man with the baby. Stepping past Saba, he ran his finger up and down the lapel. “Yes, that is nice. Can I schedule a fitting?”
“We could do that now,” said the proprietor.
“No, I don’t like to take the time when I’ve got the baby. How about tomorrow first thing?”
“I’ll be ready,” said Dean. “Let me see what else I’ve got in back, Inspector.”
“Inspector?” said the redheaded man, when Dean once again popped into the back room.
“Chief Inspector Saba Colbsallow of the Port Dechantagne Police Department,” said Saba thrusting out his hand.
“Kieran Baxter,” said the man, shifting the baby to his other arm before shaking it.
“New arrival?”
“Yes, we came in on the train late yesterday.”
“And what business are you in, Mr. Baxter?”
“Oh, I’m at my leisure just now,” and when Saba raised an eyebrow he added, “Late of His Majesty’s Navy.”
“Well, if I can be of any service…”
“Very kind. Now I’m off to the confectioner’s for a pair of lollies.”
“She seems a well-behaved child,” said Saba.
“She’s an angel,” replied Baxter, tickling the baby on the chin. “Come along Senta.”
“Lots of children with that name nowadays,” observed Saba.
Baxter stopped for just a moment. “I would imagine,” he said. Then turning, he carried the child back out the front door, passing Eamon who was coming in at the same moment.
“New arrival?”
“Came in on the train yesterday,” Saba relayed.
“Nice fellow?”
“Seems nice enough. Something familiar about him.”
“Here’s something you might like,” said Dean, once again stepping out of the back.
He held up another grey suit, this one with unadorned lapels. The waistcoat was a very deep shade of blood red, with a pattern of stars and bars that put one in mind of the Accord Banner.
“That is nice,” said Saba. “Not as nice as the other, but nice. How much.”
“Ninety-five.”
Saba hissed through clenched teeth, and then scrunched up his face. This was at the extreme upper end of what he would pay for a suit. “Two pairs of pants?”
“For you, Inspector, and of course free alterations.”
“Fine. You have my measurements?”
Mr. Dean nodded.
“All right.” Saba guided Eamon toward the front. “We’ll keep you informed of any new developments in your case.”
“I’m not going to have to spend that kind of money on a suit now that I’m an inspector, am I?” asked Eamon when they stepped out the front door.
“Hopefully not,” replied Saba. “Nobody should spend that kind of money on a suit. Did you find anything interesting out back?”
“No. I didn’t really expect to, but you never know.”
They went back to the station and got Saba’s car. Then they stopped by the scenes of two other unsolved crimes in their files, discovering nothing new. After, they decided to stop at Finkler’s Bakery for lunch. Finding a parking spot next to the emergency wall, Saba left the car and they walked across the street. The eatery was just as popular as it had ever been, and they had to wait to be seated. A dark-haired girl took their order, which was the special, since the special was leek soup and egg salad sandwiches. It wasn’t the girl who brought out their food however, but a beautiful sandy-haired woman of about twenty-three.
“Hello Gaylene,” said Saba, looking up and marveling at how beautiful the scrawny girl he had known so long ago had become.
“Hello yourself,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I like to get out once or twice a week. Sometimes I come in here and supervise a bit. It’s one of the benefits of being married to the owner.”
Gaylene’s husband, Aalwijn Finkler had inherited the family bakery business from his mother and had expanded it to include a chain of the most popular eateries in Port Dechantagne. Since he and his mother had arrived from Freedonia as Zaeri refugees, many pointed to him as one of Birmisia Colony’s success stories. And since he had married a plucky Kafirite girl, one of the original colonists, theirs was a popular family in both communities.
“Well I’m sure your employees appreciate the help,” said Saba.
“For the next hour or so anyway. Then I’ve got to be on my way. I’ve received an invitation to tea from herself.”
“Tea with Mrs. Government?” asked Eamon.
“Wait a minute,” said Gaylene. “You don’t know? I mean, neither of you know?”
“Who are you having tea with?” asked Saba, though deep down inside he was suddenly sure he knew.
Gaylene gave a grand wave with her hand, while rolling her eyes in mockery of her own gesture. “The Drache Girl. She’s back.”
“Recovered from the shooting, I suppose,” said Eamon.
“It’s hard to believe something as simple as a bullet would have any effect,” she replied.
The two police inspectors ate their lunch in silence, once Gaylene had returned to the kitchen. As they ate, Saba could feel Eamon’s eyes on him, and he struggled to act nonchalant. When they finished eating, Saba peeled several bank notes from his money clip and placed them on the table.
“My treat for the new inspector.”
“So, shall we visit the next crime scene?” asked Eamon as they stepped out the door.
“I’ve got you started. You can check out the rest of them.” Saba passed him the folder. “You take my car. I have to swing by the house and then I’ll take the trolley back to the office.”
“All right,” said Eamon, frowning. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” He took a step into the street, but had to jump back to avoid a steam carriage rushing by. “Bloody traffic.”
Carefully looking both ways, he still had to rush across the square to avoid being flattened. Once past the square, First Avenue was relatively quiet, though steam carriages still cruised by once or twice a minute. Still, it was quiet enough that Saba could have enjoyed the birds chirping in the trees. He failed to notice them.
When he reached his house, he stomped up the steps of the large brick structure. Just inside, he stopped at the table and looked down at the tray with the morning post on it. He picked it up and flipped through the five envelopes: a letter for Loana from Melody Wardlaw, and one from Mrs. Coster—he couldn’t for the life of him remember her first name, and three bills. No invitation for him. No note at all.
“Oh, are you home for lunch?” called his mother from the other end of the foyer.
“No. Is this all the mail?”
“I’m not the postman,” she said in a snit, and turned back to the parlor.
“Has Loana been down?” he called after her. He received no answer.
Walking back to the kitchen, he found Risty polishing the silver.
“Has my wife been down?”
“No. You whant I get?”
“No. Was that all the post this morning?”
“Yess.”
“All right. I’ll be home at the usual time.”
He left and retraced his steps back to Town Square. There he took his place in the queue at the trolley stop and waited with half a dozen others. After five minutes the triceratops strolled around the corner, pulling the car. This was a young one, barely bigger than the carriage, no doubt trained by the Charmley brothers. Saba felt a pang of sadness over the death of Warden Charmley. He had known the twins since they had arrived in Birmisia as kids.
Saba had just stepped aboard the trolley and paid his fare when he spotted Walter Charmley sitting with Sherree Glieberman in the very last seats. Wasn’t that just how it went? You started thinking about someone and he showed up. He hadn’t seen Walter since the funeral a week earlier, and hadn’t really spoken to him then. He decided to give him his condolences and had just started toward the couple when Sherree burst into tears. Saba stopped.
“You can’t! You just can’t!” she cried.
Saba turned to the side and tried not to pay attention.
“I’m sorry Sherree,” said Walter, far too loudly not to be overheard. “I have to stop playing around now. I have to grow up. I need a wife and a partner.”
“But she’s so old!... and ugly!”
“She’s not ugly. In fact she’s beautiful, and she’s a bit older than me, but so what. I’m sorry. You’re very sweet and I do care for you, but we were never a very good match.”
“She’ll never love you like I do!” Sherree shouted, and then she jumped up and ran out the trolley’s rear door.
The vehicle was still sitting, while the dinosaur was being fed from a bin full of leafy branches. Everyone in the packed carriage tried to act as though they hadn’t just been witness to the very personal lives of the two young people. Finally, Saba decided that there was nothing for it. He had to say something.
“I’m sorry, Walter. I couldn’t help but overhear. Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” said Walter quietly. “And I’m Warden. Today I’m Warden.”
Back at the stationhouse, Saba found it impossible to concentrate on work. He wandered downstairs to the processing area. Police Sergeant Richard Butler was on duty at the desk. A competent officer and a steady fellow in general, Butler had thinning brown hair but a very thick handlebar mustache. He nodded in acknowledgement to Saba.
“Anything interesting happening?”
“Not really,” Butler replied. “A couple of sailors, drunk and disorderly from last night. A lizzie bit the kid she was supposed to be watching—kid probably deserved it. And a guy smacked his wife around—she probably deserved it too—probably nagged. Still, he overdid it. She’s in hospital.”
“Who was the child?”
“Oh, um nine-year-old. Family’s named Hessen. Know them?”
Saba shook his head. “How about the husband?”
“Laslo Chesterton.”
Saba nodded. “Toss me the key then.”
Butler threw a six-inch ring with a dozen large steel keys upon it to Saba, who caught it in the air. Then he stepped into the elevator, just past the sergeant’s station and closed the cage after him. Turning the lever, he sent the elevator car downward to the basement where the holding cells were located. In the second cell, he found Laslo Chesterton sitting on the cot, wearing a blood-spattered shirt and dungarees. He was an average looking fellow, a bit fat around the middle, with thick, unwashed black hair. Saba didn’t know the man well. His acquaintance was with Mrs. Chesterton, a former prostitute turned housewife.
Unlocking the cell, the inspector stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Ready to get out?” he asked the man, who stood up.
Chesterton started to say something, but before he could speak, Saba punched him in the stomach. A second punch to the chin knocked Chesterton to the ground. Picking him up by the hair, the police inspector slammed the man’s face into the cement wall of the cell, causing his nose to spray blood across the hard surface. Then he pounded his fist into Chesterton’s kidneys.
“Hey! Hey!”
Saba stopped, letting the wife-beater slide down to the floor. He looked over to cell number one to see two men, dressed as merchant sailors, with their faces pressed up against the bars.
“You don’t want to get involved,” growled Saba.
“You’re right there,” said one of the two. “But you don’t really want to kill him do you? He doesn’t have any more in him. You pound him anymore and you won’t leave him with either kidney. I mean, whatever he did, you don’t really want to kill him, do you?”
Saba stared at the two sailors for a moment. Then he looked down at the man on the ground. Chesterton was still breathing. He thought for a moment and realized how glad he was that the two were in the other cell. He really might have killed the man. He knelt down and rolled him over.
“If you ever lay a hand on her again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
The man said nothing. He was unconscious.
Stepping out of the cell, he left the door open. He unlocked cell number one and opened that door wide, though he didn’t go inside.
“You two sober enough to leave?”
The one who had spoken before, stepped cautiously out. The other held back for a moment.
“You’d rather wait for the justice of the peace?”
“No.” He darted quickly out and started for the stairs.
“We were just celebrating a bit too much,” said the first, hanging back.
“What’s your name?”
“Drake, Kaspar Drake.”
“I don’t want to see you in here again.”
“No, sir. I’m going to be a model citizen. Got myself a girl and everything.”
“Go on then.” Saba pointed toward the stairs that the other man had taken, while he himself headed for the elevator. Once back upstairs, he tossed Butler the keys, saying, “Send somebody down to help Chesterton. He’s fallen and hurt himself.”
Back up the elevator to his office, Saba was surprised to find Eamon there, sitting behind his desk and looking over paperwork. He got up when he saw Saba and moved around to the seat opposite.
“Well, did you find anything?” asked Saba, expecting a negative response.
“I think I did. I think the arson at the Dumont Apartment was committed by the same fellow that set off the bomb at the shipyard.”
“How do you figure?”
“I talked to several of the former tenants. Some of them remembered a man who lived in one of the apartments—said he was a bit odd. He fits our description, about forty, dark hair. I got ahold of some records and found his name—Seifer Caldell.”
“All right, put out a bulletin.”
Saba left the station a little early, but he didn’t go directly home. He stopped at Stein’s Pub. It was a little building just north of Town Square on Pine, a few doors up from where years before Mr. Darwin had sold goods made from dinosaur skin. It was a small room, lit by the yellow glow of gaslights. The woman behind the bar looked like she had lived some hard years, but wasn’t totally unattractive.
“What’ll you have, luv?”
“Pint of bitter.”
He wasn’t the only customer. Four other men sipped from sudsy glasses. One was obviously a sailor. The others were workmen. Saba didn’t recognize any of them.
“Another?” The inspector looked down at his glass, not having recognized that he had almost emptied it.
“One more.”
When he was finished, he climbed back into his steam carriage and drove the last half mile home. The house was dark when he entered through the kitchen. He found Risty in the den, dusting.
“Where is everyone?”
“Lady and child at Tacktotott to eat.”
“They’re dining at the governor’s house again?”
The lizzie bobbed his head up and down.
“Where’s my wife?”
The reptilian pointed upwards.
With a scowl, Saba shot up the stairs, passing his own bedroom and opening the door to his wife’s. She was lying on her bed reading Brysin’s Weekly Ladies’ Journal.
“Have you been in bed all day?” he demanded.
“I’m not feeling well.”
“Did you know that my mother and daughter went to the neighbors for dinner? What does that say about my wife that she can’t be bothered to feed her own child?”
“I told you I’m not feeling well.”
“Ssotook! There’s nothing wrong with you that a stern hand wouldn’t fix.”
Loana wrinkled her nose and blew him a raspberry.
Grabbing the magazine from her hands, Saba threw it across the room. Reaching across her, he grabbed her right wrist with one hand and her right ankle with the other, and flipped her over onto her stomach.
“Don’t you dare!” she screamed, struggling to get away.
All she managed to do was to get her ankle-length nightgown to ride up to her thighs. Seizing the hem, he pulled it up to her waist, exposing her bare body. He slapped her on her ample bottom. It jiggled satisfyingly. Flipping back over, Loana sat up. Saba took the nightdress and pulled it completely over her head, leaving her arms trapped and her face covered, but the rest of her naked and vulnerable.
Rolling her back onto her stomach, he sat down beside her and put his leg over her to hold her in place. Then he began raining open hand blows upon those generous but perfectly proportioned buttocks, first on one side and then the other. Soon her bottom began to glow red and her sounds of protests had changed to soft moaning. They weren’t moans of pain, but the sounds he had heard many times before—moans of desire.
He got up and undressed. She didn’t move. He rolled her onto her back and stroked her the way he knew made her weak. She cooed. No, there was no mistaking her for any other woman, despite her face being hidden. Those wide hips, that soft but flat stomach, and those massive breasts that somehow defied gravity. No one would call her thin or lithe or willowy. She was a curvaceous goddess of sensual pleasure, and she hadn’t visited her temple in far too long. She spread her legs a little and he needed no more invitation than that. He took her.
Afterwards he lay back propped up by two pillows.
“My poor bottom is so sore, I won’t be able to sit down tomorrow,” she said, snuggling into the crook of his shoulder.
“Keep that in mind when you decide you can’t be a proper wife and mother. Do you think you’re too good for us?”
“No, no. Of course not. I’ve been selfish.” She pressed her face into his neck. “It won’t happen again.”
“Too right,” he said.